At midnight the dark gets a little darker. It scares me but it also fuels me. There are creatures hiding in those corners, waiting for the arms to hit 12. As the minutes tick ever closer, they grow, like the shadows, dancing on the walls.
It’s quiet, too quiet. Yet, I stand ready. My weapon of choice in my hand. Night after night, I wait on the arrival. Another minute has passed and I’m tense but prepared. This is nothing new. The same drill for many nights, for many years.
They’re getting restless. Some nights they cannot wait. Time becomes a meaningless measure. Before I know it, one has shot around the corner and landed right in front of me, teeth in an unnatural grin. Soon he is whispering tales so quickly, the words barely have time to spill from his lips.
With pen in hand, I begin to write.
Phoebe Jane
PhoebeJaneWrites 
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